


Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will Be Done

by multifandommonster



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Gen, John Blake Needs a Hug, basically just character study, i have many thoughts about john and bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandommonster/pseuds/multifandommonster
Summary: This is not a reckoning for Gotham.This is redemption.
Relationships: Bane (DCU) & John Blake, Bane (DCU)/John Blake
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will Be Done

On the morning of Gotham’s reckoning, the city streets are silent. The pavement is uncharacteristically barren in the morning rush hour—absent from the air are the sounds of honking taxis, the clacks of heels on the sidewalk, the shouts of angry passersby as they collide at storefronts. A deafening quiet rests over the city like an iron blanket as mothers and fathers hide their children behind locked doors, tucked safely away in their rooms so that they cannot hear the muffled cries of their parents as the news of Bane’s planned revolt unfolds on the television. 

Detective John Blake stands on unsteady legs in the privacy of his kitchen, away from the prying eyes of the commissioner he is protecting. He feels the uncertainty in the pit of his stomach, the fear of what may come next like a stone in the ocean, not unlike the day he left the orphanage for the final time and stared at the doors of the Gotham City Police Department. The great savior legacy of the Batman and the clear sureness of right and wrong in his chest felt so much greater, then—he was ready to save the world. Each morning John awoke with the image of the desperate faces of the boys in the orphanage, the looming threat of the terrifying caretakers and the nightmarish foster parents, and every day he worked harder and harder to protect them.

Now, with Commissioner Gordon in his living room, he wonders just how good a job he’s done. The commissioner is his only hope against the reckoning that Bane plans to bring—if he can just get the commissioner to safety with the Batman, they can find a way to save the Gotham police that have been locked underground. John paces around his kitchen thinking of a way to signal for the vigilante, but he realizes soon enough that the commissioner’s eyes are glued to a hijacked broadcast.

Standing in the center frame of the screen is the towering and brutish figure of Bane, poised atop one of his countless armored vehicles. Bane is dressed for the media frenzy—adorned from head to toe like a nightmare come to life in heavy armor underneath his massive and well-worn shearling coat, collar popped back in such a way that it adds to the sinister nature of the black mask that shrouds most of his face. John feels a jolt of terror run from the tip of his spine to his toes as Bane’s distorted and scornful voice bellows through his speakers, and his instinct to fight rises up in his throat just like it did back when it was bullies on the blacktop. He has never cared for the liars and the dictators that feed into Gotham’s corruptness, never wanted to be anything other than the light at the end of the tunnel for all the other boys and girls like him. They gloat and they groan about the tragedies of the system, they claim that their way out is the only path to peace, but they could never know the system the way John does. He knows what the commissioner is to the rest of the city, and he knows the hope and order that people like him and the late Harvey Dent bring. 

In the midst of his pacing, John catches a glimpse of Bane raising up a photograph of Mr. Dent in front of the growing crowd of reporters. John had tuned out moments ago—Bane was now talking about the cruelness of the Dent Act and the prisoners it had supposedly locked away unjustly. His words are sharp and accusatory as he claims that Dent’s heroic media image is actually a façade, and the gasps of the onlookers is audible even to John as Bane rips the photograph in half. John can feel the anger simmering in his bones, but the tense posture of the commissioner confuses him—why would he appear so fearful when Bane is only trying to rile up the crowd?

It is then, of course, that the commissioners’ own name filters through the speakers, and John feels as though a stone has dropped in his gut when Bane holds up a set of papers in the commissioner’s own handwriting. “The Batman did not murder Harvey Dent,” Bane begins, a hush falling almost immediately over the reporters. “He saved my boy—then took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes, so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the madman who tried to murder my own child… but I can no longer live with my lie,” he continues, pausing to look out into the cameras and shake his head as screams of shock ring out amongst the people. 

Bane appears unphased by the commotion, his laugh grating on John’s ears like broken glass at the shock of the crowd gathered around. Ice spreads through John’s veins as he tries to process what Bane has just revealed—the man that the people of Gotham had looked up to for years as a symbol of rebuilding, the man that brought the city to its knees in mourning… that man had tried to kill the commissioner’s son? The great and golden Harvey Dent had used the fear of his people to orchestrate one of the largest surges of prison lockups in Gotham’s history- the very man that John had joined the force in honor of- and it was all a lie? He feels his fingers curl into fists at his sides as he tries to control the speed of each breath, he knows how ragged and frustrated he sounds but he is unsure of how to stop it. 

The commissioner sits only a few inches away from him on the sofa with the audacity to look ashamed, scared like an animal in a trap—scared like the men and women of Blackgate must be, John reminds himself, when their cruel and false sentences are handed to them like a death note. The betrayal in John’s chest tightens and grips until he feels consumed by it, till his bones feel like they might break from the force of his own anger. Just this morning he had nearly lost his life and risked his entire operation with the Batman when he managed to break the commissioner out of Bane’s grasp, only to find out that the commissioner had been working with the enemy of the people all along. The commissioner was more than a symbol of justice to the people—he was the only man left in power that John felt like he could trust. Now, John knew he had nothing, and as he turns to face the crestfallen commissioner, he feels a chill sweep over his own heart.

“Those men locked up for eight years and denied parole under the Dent Act… it was all based on a lie?” John asks, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

The commissioner turns to face John with a remorseless expression, hardly able to keep the snarl from his tone. “One day you may face such a moment of crisis, and in that moment, I hope you have a friend like I did! To plunge their hands into the filth so that you can keep yours clean!” the commissioner shouts, shaking his head wildly like a man desperate for an excuse.

The heat behind his words strikes John like a slap to the face, and the image of a man he once admired and looked up to comes crumbling down right before him. This shining example of peace and prosperity that John had placed his belief in was no better than the corrupt and rotten criminals that he had worked so hard to eradicate—he had taken part in the evil, obeyed their orders and carried out their wishes under the assumption that they were rebuilding, putting away potentially dozens of innocent men and women to be locked behind the horrifying walls of Blackgate.

“Your hands look plenty filthy to me, commissioner,” he whispers, trembling as he turns back to Bane’s message on the television. The anger rushes over his body in waves, wracking him with adrenaline until it pounds in his ears, the same message on repeat in the forefront of his mind: the system has failed him for the very last time. The foster system had failed him first with its terrifying homes and forgotten children, the force had failed him next with his own colleagues falling prey to the temptations of the Scarecrow and Joker, and finally this. John watches as Bane continues his preaching, and he feels himself begin to listen— _truly_ listen.

He can hardly tear his eyes away from the broad, sweeping gestures that Bane makes, squinting and widening his eyes through the monstrous mask on his face at the ends of every statement to further the emphasis of his accusations. Fear simmers low in the pit of his gut, yes, but something else begins to emerge as he takes in the scene of Bane readying the cannons at the prison gate— _power_. 

“We take Gotham from the corrupt!” Bane bellows out, gesturing for the cannons to point in the direction of the concrete wall. “The rich! The oppressors of generations who've kept you down with the myth of opportunity… and we give it back to you, the people,” Bane continues. “Gotham is yours! None shall interfere, do as you please!” he finishes, his call to action ringing out as the hoards of reporters run from the scene.

The explosion rings out moments later, but Bane stands still as a statue, a portrait of power and opportunity to the bitter and underserved people of Gotham to look to.

Power, John realizes, is what people like him were missing all along; this is not a reckoning for Gotham, this is _redemption_. 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave me some critiques! in the spirit of 2021 I’m trying to get myself to write more— I’d love to chat, check me out on twitter at EDDIEVEN0M


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